Between Before and After

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  May’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. Elaine kept her eyes on the rug and counted the flowers in the pattern. If she kept counting, she wouldn’t hear the things they said about her.

  “There must be some mistake. Pregnant?” May lifted Elaine’s chin in one hand. Her breath smelled like coffee. “Elaine, is this true?”

  Elaine closed her eyes and nodded.

  “How did this happen? Who is the father?” May pulled her hand away. Elaine let her chin drop.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Young lady, I demand that you tell me immediately. We take you into our home, treat you like a daughter, and now this!” May’s breath was rapid, her face white as bone.

  Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three. She’d counted the carpet roses from her feet to the edge of the room.

  “When did your son leave for college?” the doctor asked.

  May took a deep breath. Elaine watched as May’s nostrils retracted and her mouth worked before she spoke. “My son is engaged. This girl is no better than she should be. Terrible upbringing. Her father was a drunk. What can you expect?”

  Without meeting Elaine’s eyes, May took the doctor’s arm and they left the room together without another word. Engaged? No one had mentioned that. She was sure May was lying. Elaine waited in the empty guest room for something to happen. She pictured May telling Mr. Seward. Even he would turn against her now. No matter what, she couldn’t tell them Howie was the father, that she’d never been with another boy. The minutes ticked by. No one came. Elaine crept to her room and stayed there through dinner. When Stephen came to find her, she sent him away saying she was sick. It was late when May reappeared.

  “I can no longer have a girl of your character residing under our roof. I’ve talked it over with Mr. Gossley. We’ll make arrangements for you, but you must be out at once.”

  A strange sense of relief mingled with despair. The worst was known. It was now out of her hands; someone else would make the arrangements. All Elaine wanted to do was sleep. But there was one last thing. “You can’t tell Stephen. I’ll tell him I’m going away to school. And you must promise me that he’ll finish school.”

  May met her eyes. “You’re a bright girl, Elaine. It’s too bad you don’t have better morals. You’re in no position to bargain.”

  It had never occurred to her before that moment that Stephen might be cast out too.

  “Stephen didn’t do anything.” She’d beg on his behalf if she had to.

  “No, he didn’t. We saved him in time.”

  May’s eyes were chips of flint, dark and hard. Why had she ever thought this woman was beautiful? How could she have compared May to her own mother?

  “I suppose there’s no need for your brother to know what his sister’s really like.” May looked at Elaine with such scorn that she felt scorched.

  Elaine closed her eyes. Stephen was spared. Nothing else mattered. She felt May hesitate a moment longer, then heard the sound of her door being drawn closed. She wouldn’t think about telling Stephen she was leaving. She wouldn’t think about May’s words, that Howie was engaged. Those thoughts were like quicksand; they would pull her under and there would be no escape. Curling on her side, she drew her legs up to her chest and began to hum.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  WOODWARD HOUSE

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—MARCH 1921

  ELAINE

  Elaine sat on the toilet and listened to one of the other girls talk to her from the other side of the door. The toilet stalls were the one sanctuary of privacy at Woodward House. But Catty, when she wanted to talk, ignored the unspoken rules and conversed even there. She’d immediately taken Elaine under her wing, and even if she did talk too much, Elaine was glad for a friend. Catty was seventeen, and it was the second time she’d been at the home. She’d had her first baby at fifteen.

  “My first was a girl—the prettiest baby they ever had here. Sister Theresa told me so. I still gave her away.”

  Giving up on privacy, Elaine came out of the stall. Catty was fixing her hair in the small mirror. The few mirrors at Woodward House were kept small so they wouldn’t encourage vanity. She spun around to face Elaine.

  “Couldn’t work with a baby to feed, could I? I’m going to be an actress someday, and you can’t do that with a kid.” She crossed her arms and leaned them on the shelf of her belly.

  “Then why are you here again?” Catty never took offense at direct questions. Elaine could ask her anything.

  “First time was my pa. Nothing I could do about it. Good thing the baby looked like me. Pa has a mug like the wrong end of a pig. This time it was my choice.”

  Elaine let the warm water run through her fingers as she wondered at Catty’s words. Why would anyone choose this?

  “Distinguished gentleman. He wasn’t much to look at either, but he bought me presents. Had a wife and kids of his own, but he was sweet, and funny when he was zozzled. Said he loved me, so I thought if I got in the family way it might help things along.” She widened her enormous blue eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

  Even with a stomach the size of a watermelon, Catty was beautiful. Blond ringlets framed a chiseled face. Elaine ran a hand through her own red hair that needed washing.

  “What did he do?”

  “Soon as I mentioned a baby, he run away with his bits in his hand.” Catty laughed and checked herself in the mirror. “It was all horsefeathers! That’s how stupid I am. I’m done with men for sure now, unless they’re really good looking.”

  She explained childbirth in all its gory detail to Elaine, and then advised her to give up the baby before she even looked at it.

  “Otherwise it’s hard to forget. Find myself thinking about Lily more than I should. I named her after Lillian Gish. Don’t know if the family kept the name, but it’s how I think of her.”

  “You can name your baby?” Elaine hadn’t considered this possibility before.

  “Don’t know if you can, but I did.”

  All the girls were required to attend hygiene and home and family classes, but each one considered them jokes. They already knew where babies came from, and it wasn’t likely they’d be good candidates for marriage now. But, as Catty reminded Elaine, times were changing. Men of the twenties were more broad-minded. Not that it mattered to Elaine. For a moment she’d considered keeping the baby, but she’d never be able to take care of it and Stephen. The baby deserved a real home with a father and mother. As soon as she got rid of the baby, she’d save up money and then bring Stephen to live with her. Then her life would be complete.

  The sisters had found her a part-time job as a housemaid, and she spent her evenings writing letters to Stephen. She never included a return address. If he knew she was still in Brooklyn, he’d come looking for her. But sending a letter with no hope of reply made her feel even lonelier. What if he forgot about her? Or worse, remembered, but didn’t miss her at all?

  Howie had forgotten her by now. She was sure of it. She tried not to think of him, but her old trick of constructing a wall didn’t work anymore. As winter howled through Brooklyn, she imagined him in Ithaca sledding with friends and meeting Sally for a drink after classes. The pain was sharper than the baby’s kicks. And May’s words that he was engaged haunted her nights. It wasn’t right that his life should go on when hers was ruined. But it would be even worse if he felt pity for her.

  In late March, Elaine received her first letter. The envelope was typed and she didn’t recognize the return address. Who would write to her if it wasn’t Stephen? Howie? She couldn’t afford to let her hopes go there. With trembling hands, she opened the letter in a bathroom stall.

  March 20, 1921

  My Dear Elaine,

  I am entrusting this letter to my close friend and personal solicitor, Mr. John Parks. Blindness may have curtailed my ability to write letters on my own, but it is no excuse for keeping me ignorant of events in my own household.

  I believe that you are carrying Howard’s child, my great-gr
andchild. I do not have definite proof of this, but my suspicions are strong enough that I would like to see you after the child is born so that I can make provisions for you both. I will not notify Howard, as I think it is of the utmost importance that he completes his college degree. News that would interfere with that goal would be unwelcome. However, I do hope that at some time in the future, he is alerted to the existence of his child and knows that you are both taken care of. A man must know the consequences of his actions.

  I have spoken to May about my suspicions, but as I expected, she is not objective when it comes to her son. She has hardened her heart against you. In my experience, mothers tend to have a blind spot concerning their boys.

  I plan to set up a trust fund for both you and the child. As you know, I think very highly of you, and it would do my old heart good to know that you are able to continue your education. You cannot believe that there is any future for you and the child with Howard. He has obligations that befit his social standing. Not that I approve of his conduct. I would like to think that my great-grandchild will be provided for and would very much like to meet him or her while I am still able to do so. Please notify me immediately upon the baby’s birth through Mr. Parks.

  In the meantime, if there is anything you lack, please do not hesitate to let Mr. Parks know. I have enclosed a small sum to help with incidentals which a pregnancy may require, and plan to send more upon news of the birth. Stephen continues to prosper in our home, although he misses his sister very much.

  With fondness,

  Mr. Arthur Seward

  Sitting on the toilet, Elaine read and reread the letter, her face hot with anger. She thought of flushing the money order down the drain. Footsteps came in. The door on the stall next to her opened and closed. Elaine felt sick. Obligations to his social standing? She howled with rage.

  “The baby, it is coming?”

  She recognized Svetlana’s voice.

  “No, the baby’s not coming. Mind your business.”

  The toilet flushed. A door opened and closed.

  Mr. Seward had been the only Gossley who really did know her, despite what Howie said. She’d spent more time with the old man than with anyone else in the family. She thought they were friends. He’d kept her poem. In his own gruff way, he cared about her and wanted to do right by her. She rested her head in her hands and counted the black-and-white tiles on the bathroom floor. A trust fund. She didn’t even know what that meant. If there was money coming, it belonged to the baby. She and Stephen would manage on their own and not be beholden to any Gossleys.

  On the other hand, why shouldn’t she tell who the father was? Why shouldn’t Howie leave college? Why shouldn’t he be inconvenienced? Here she was, growing monstrous with his child, about to go through pain worse than any beating—at least that’s what Catty said—while he spent his days worrying about grades and what flowers to buy Sally Wilson. Elaine worried the edges of the money order. It wasn’t Mr. Seward’s fault that his grandson was a fool, but it was his fault for thinking Howie’s life shouldn’t be disrupted.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  THE MAN IN THE CAR

  SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA—AUGUST 1955

  Molly

  We were all at the hospital, but Uncle Stephen had left a note for Mom. Angus and I sat in orange plastic chairs in the waiting room with Uncle Stephen while Robert’s parents talked with the doctor. He said he wanted to perform surgery on Robert’s shattered leg as soon as he regained consciousness.

  The moment Robert’s parents arrived, his father started in on the miracle boy story, explaining how Robert’s life was more precious than the usual person’s. Then his mother spied Uncle Stephen and ran over to him. Her hair was wound in tiny pink sponge rollers that covered her head and gave her a strange, hairless look. With one small hand she grabbed Uncle Stephen’s arm while she begged him to come into Robert’s room and pray. But a nurse barred the door from any miracle workers.

  “What on earth happened?” Mom arrived like squealing brakes. I could almost smell burning rubber as she tore into the waiting room.

  Angus burst into tears again.

  “The boys were trying out Angus’s wings on the roof of the barn. Robert jumped and a stranger broke the fall,” Uncle Stephen said simply. “It looks like everyone will survive.”

  Mom looked at Angus like he had just risen from the dead. I thought she’d be angry with him. Her words caught me by surprise.

  “Where was Molly?”

  My stomach flip-flopped. Was she thinking I should have done a better job of watching my brother?

  “How could you have let this happen?”

  Uncle Stephen put his hand on her arm. “Take it easy, Lainey. None of us saw this coming. Molly was the first one to the rescue. I called the ambulance as soon as I saw what happened.”

  “I didn’t know how to stop him!” The tears that had been pushing against my eyes burst out. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” I moved closer to Uncle Stephen. Angus burrowed into Mom’s side.

  “I thought we’d fly. Molly told us to stop. Besides, Robert said nothing could hurt him, and Molly told him to prove it,” Angus said through sobs.

  “You what?” Mom grabbed me by the shoulders. “How could you say such a thing?”

  “That was before. I didn’t know—”

  Uncle Stephen covered her hands.

  Mom expelled a deep breath of air through her nose. Her next words were slow and directed right at me. “Why wasn’t I told about the wings in the first place?”

  “I didn’t think Angus would do something so stupid.”

  “Your younger brother is your responsibility—”

  Uncle Stephen cut her off. “Angus is okay, Lainey. Robert made his own choice. Molly did the best she could. That’s all any of us can do.” He paused and looked her directly in the eye. “No one can save anyone but themselves.”

  Between sobs, I told about the shadow rushing past me right before Robert jumped, how a large man held his arms out as Robert came tumbling down, and how when he hit, Robert and the man were both buried under the wings.

  She sat on the edge of a plastic chair and gripped her hands together until the knuckles turned white. “Who was the man? What happened to him?”

  “He must be one of the faithful who saw the whole thing happening. We haven’t seen him since they unloaded the ambulance,” Uncle Stephen said.

  Angus was still snuffling. He wiped his nose across the back of his arm. “Is it another miracle?”

  A nurse came out through the swinging door. “Mr. Whipple is asking for his family.”

  We all looked at each other. There was no one else in our little waiting area.

  Finally, Uncle Stephen spoke up. “If that’s the gentleman who came in the ambulance, we’d be happy to see him. He saved a boy’s life. Although we can’t claim to be family.”

  We all followed the nurse into the white room, first Uncle Stephen with Angus under one arm and then Mom and I right behind. The man who had saved Robert sat propped up in bed.

  I looked at him curiously. He was pudgy with dark, curling hair, and when he smiled like he did right then, there was something that made me feel at home.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  ARTHUR

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—APRIL 1921

  ELAINE

  The baby, a boy, was born on April 15th. The birth was long and difficult. Elaine believed she was dying. Every time the pain got too bad, she pictured Stephen’s face. She screamed for her mother, and then bit down on the sheet and cried silently. Hours later, a healthy boy emerged. By then, Elaine was too exhausted to care. But the baby’s cry moved her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Something in that wail ripped through her, shook her resolve to part with the tiny, crying thing. But the nuns were strict about the policy for adopted infants: any baby to be given up was whisked away. She caught a glimpse of a scrunched-up face and a thatch of pale hair swaddled in a blue blanket. The baby looked more alien than
human, which she found a relief. She had half expected to see Howie’s face staring up at her.

  Elaine remembered what Cattie had told her about baby Lily.

  “If I can’t hold him, then I at least want to give him his proper name.”

  Sister Catalina paused pushing on Elaine’s stomach. Sister Michaela and the baby were already out of the room.

  “His name is Arthur.”

  The sister pushed again, and a wet red sack slithered out between Elaine’s trembling legs. Elaine had no idea what it was. She turned her eyes away in revulsion. Maybe she’d lost part of her insides.

  “I’ll tell the other sisters your wishes. Of course, it’s up to his new family—we can only suggest.”

  When Sister Catalina left, Elaine rolled to her side. Next to a small window was a picture of an angel helping two children across a rickety wooden bridge. The girl was older, the boy still had chubby little legs. It reminded her of Stephen when they were younger. For the last nine months she had never been alone. Now even baby Arthur was gone. Her body was sore and empty. She suspected some vital part of her had been ripped out during the birth and expelled, and that no one had the nerve to tell her. The alien baby didn’t look anything like Howie or like her. She suddenly wondered if babies aged in heaven, or if Claire would be a baby for eternity. Beyond the window, new leaves uncurled on the ash tree like tiny fists opening to the sun.

  It was her bleakest moment when the old woman bade Gretel to inspect the yawning oven. Was there nothing she could do to save her brother, to save them both?

  “When I bring out the boy, you will put him in here. Or, if you do not, I will kill you first and then he will follow.”

  Gretel stuck her head inside the wide opening. “I don’t understand how this oven works. Surely my brother is too large to fit inside.”

  “What, you foolish child? The opening is plenty large for you and your brother both. I will show you how it’s done.” The old woman leaned her head inside the oven so that she could feel the fire’s roar against her skin. And Gretel did something she thought she would never be able to do. With one strong shove, she toppled the old woman into the oven and closed the door. Then she climbed on a stool and got the key from the pantry to release her brother from his cage.